


Castiel Falling

by lobotomycastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Castiel Is An Eldritch Horror, Falling In Love, M/M, Missing Scene: 4x01 Lazarus Rising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27957386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobotomycastiel/pseuds/lobotomycastiel
Summary: The first thing Castiel notices about Dean Winchester’s soul is that it’scold.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 89





	Castiel Falling

**Author's Note:**

> ...Hello SPN community. 
> 
> As you can tell by m AO3 username, I joined this website to post mediocre Marvel fanfiction. But since the events of November 5th, 2020, Dean and Cas have lived rent free in my mind. I started my rewatch of this show on November 22nd, today is December 8th, and I'm already on season 8. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy my take on Cas' POV for 4x01!

The first thing Castiel notices about Dean Winchester’s soul is that it’s _cold._

Everything in Hell is so damn warm; the place is a furnace filled with sizzling iron and rending flesh, but Winchester’s soul is a cool balm, gentle against his face. It’s also _bright_. Hell is a dark, horrid place where things seem to leap out at him from the shadows at all angles. In contrast, his soul is a brilliant white, a guiding beacon that calls to him, makes him reach out, to grasp--

And the moment he does, he’s changed. 

Flashes of a childhood lived in vans and cheap rooms, the pervasive smell of whiskey left out in a plastic cup overnight. Glimpses of a woman, blonde, with kind eyes and lines around her mouth, her face no stranger to smiling. And against it all, the urge to protect someone vulnerable. To protect _everyone_ vulnerable, even if it means tearing himself to pieces. 

Castiel sees this, and he understands.

His Father may have sent him down to his wretched place filled with abominations to move one chess piece in a great battle, but this feels… different. Seismic. He feels the core of his very being move as it shifts into alignment with Dean Winchester, and he knows from then on that they are one. 

* * *

Putting a damaged soul back together is more complicated than he anticipated. He’s reminded, distantly, of a Swedish furniture store that Anna had been to when she’d been sent down to perform a miracle for the seven year old daughter of two lesbian ex-nuns. There are no instructions, he must instead sift through each individual facet of Dean Winchester and figure out where it fits. 

It’s agonizing. 

Castiel thought he understood the concepts of pain, neglect, and wrath; God, even if he was Father of all, was never going to be a contender for Father of the Year. The things He let occur in His name alone… not to mention the things He actively _did_ to his children when they held His attention long enough to invoke ire. But this is different. 

God’s wrath, though terrifying to the bone, was always somewhat impersonal, a punishment for a collective, and had a sense of inevitability. What did one expect when they spurned Him? For Him to _not_ be angry? The wrath of John Winchester was tailored to two people.

Sitting in Heaven, holding a fragment of one of Dean Winchester’s defining memories, the one where the Winchester elder had thrown an empty bottle of beer at Dean for not laying salt lines fast enough, and Dean had dodged out of the way, making the bottle shatter a window and break one of the lines he'd laid, which only served to enrage his father even further, Castiel wishes for the first time that he could do _more_ than what is currently being asked of him. 

Anna finds him like that, cross-legged in the grass, clutching the fragment in his hands tightly and staring daggers at it. 

“Brother, are you well?” she asks. He’d always taken his brothers’ and sisters’ caring nature for granted, he realizes. Dean Winchester had so few people he could reliably trust to have his best interests at heart, and here he is, in Heaven, with an entire army that he can confide in. 

“...Castiel?” she asks again. Oh. He hadn’t answered her question. 

“I’m well, thank you, sister. But…”

“Here we go,” she teases, rolling her eyes fondly. 

“Is there anything else I can do for him? Or, better yet, anyone else more equipped for this task? I can barely stand looking at these… these _things_ , there’s too much suffering in them.”

Anna sighs. This is an unfortunately common occurrence in their friendship. He has a problem of asking too many questions, an unseemly trait in a soldier. 

“Our Father gave you an order, Castiel. He gave _you_ an order. You should be grateful and carry out His word.” 

He looks down at the shards surrounding him. This order he’d been given, the one he’d been so excited to receive, it now seems like a deliberate punishment. Though for what, he can’t be sure. 

“I will do all in my power to serve Him dutifully,” he recites. Anna smiles at him and musses his hair. 

“Godspeed, Castiel.” He hears the rustle of her wings as she vanishes, leaving him alone once more. Alone with Dean Winchester. Well, what remains of him. 

“Okay, Dean,” he says to himself, picking up the fragment he had been holding. “This one seems like it should go to the _left_ of your first time seeing a woman’s naked breasts, and _below_ the time you gave yourself and your brother food poisoning with expired milk.” 

* * *

He takes back all notions of his mission being a punishment from his Father when he sees that Dean Winchester’s body is still whole. A small mercy, but one nonetheless, and one that he will cherish. The thousand burning limbs of his true form burn and fell the surrounding trees, but he doesn’t care. 

Sitting back and watching the man whose soul he’d spent weeks painfully reconstructing claw his way out of a coffin and above ground is gratifying in a way nothing in his life has ever been. Is this his purpose? To watch over Dean Winchester and see him triumph? He can’t think of anything better. 

Then, while Dean is busy navigating to the nearest town, he gets a hold of himself. His purpose is whatever God says his purpose is. If it is to protect Dean Winchester? So be it. If it is to destroy him… 

Even if the thought makes a searing pain flare up in his chest, so be it.

* * *

Trying to talk to the man he saved from eternal damnation goes terribly. He doesn’t have his vessel on-hand, so he tries the technology in the gas station, which only seems to frighten Dean into taking anti-demonic precautions.

He’s almost offended. He’s an _angel of the Lord_ , and Dean is treating him like… like one of those grotesque mutations? He calms himself; Dean doesn’t know any better. When he has his vessel, he can explain, and Dean will be grateful, and then.

And then God will give him a new mission and he will move on. Simple. 

He needs to get a hold of himself. He cannot get attached to a human. What would the rest of the garrison think?

Shame is an unfamiliar feeling. He must have learned it from a few dozen of Dean’s memories.

* * *

He truly does not mean to harm Pamela Barnes at all, but she is insistent on seeing him. She has him gripped and will not let him go, and he _needs_ her to let _go_ so he can talk to _Dean_. So he reveals himself, and burns her eyes out in the process. Eight halos, each ablaze with the intensity of a galaxy, will do that. 

Another wave of shame hits him. What will Dean think of this? Will he be no better than a malevolent spirit in his eyes? 

Following the wave of shame is a wave of pure incredulousness. What has gotten into him? Putting Dean back together must have broken something in him. The other angels would be furious if they knew. This was not a part of his mission. 

So he resolves that they will never know. He learned lying from Dean’s memories as well. 

* * *

Burning out the eyes of demonic vessels is immensely less shameful than burning out the eyes of an innocent but persistent psychic. Disgusting, fetid creatures. 

* * *

Dean is summoning him. It’s kind of… cute, in a way. Him, his brother, and Robert Singer aim to trap him and question him. It won’t work, none of the figures they’ve drawn are the proper Enochian binding runes, but it’s impressive. Dean never did get credit for how intelligent he is. 

That particular thought is one of _several_ distressing stray lines of thinking that he’s had since bringing Dean back to life. And it’s why he hesitates and throws a few lightning bolts their way before he reveals himself. 

Not _himself_ , but his vessel, Jimmy Novak. He’s come too far to ruin this mission by blinding Dean with his true form. 

Walking into the dilapidated barn, his heart soars. He can finally lay eyes on Dean. He looks whole, healthy, and strong, his grip tight and aim steady around the shotgun as he--

As he fires rocksalt into Castiel’s vessel. Of course. 

He walks forward, sparks flying overhead as the light fixtures short out. His face remains impassive, but his powers give away exactly how pleased he is to see Dean. As he comes closer, he circles the man, who looks at him with pure fear. 

“Who are you?” And he nearly replies _that’s not what I thought your voice would sound like, I like it_. 

But he’s known Dean for so long at this point, anything less than total honesty would cheapen what they have between them. He learned that from watching Dean’s extensive catalog of failed relationships; there should be no lies between them.

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised and raised you from perdition.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated <3 
> 
> If you want to chat, I'm on Tumblr at [@earth1610s](https://earth1610s.tumblr.com)!


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